


Like I Feel

by Cherith



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alphabet Challenge, Character Study, Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherith/pseuds/Cherith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pick a character that you hold dear, and write something for each letter in the alphabet. Long stories or short stories or a wonderful mix of both! Major or minor ones, what goes on inside their heads? What do they think, feel and like? Let everyone know, and have fun and show your love!</p><p>A collection of Drabbles as part of the Alphabet Character Meme, to study Bann Teagan Guerrin - Romance Edition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Athenril

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Like I Bleed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/324877) by [Cherith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherith/pseuds/Cherith). 



> Based on the character alphabet meme started by combination-nc on Tumblr.

She was everything he didn’t look for in a woman: _an elf_ , brash, blonde... with trouble written into her very bones.  Still he couldn’t help the way his eye was drawn by her, the way she strolled through The Hanged Man as if she owned the place- and not just the building, but the city.  As though if people were to kneel in her wake, she wouldn’t bat an eye.

That she came to him, sat at the table he shared with his nephew, that she addressed him by name as though they were old friends- none of it came as a surprise.  He sensed when Alistair’s head came up, eyes searching from under the mop of straw on his head he refused to manage or cut.  Teagan shifted in his seat, turning enough to keep his eyes from meeting his nephew’s and focusing his attention on Athenril.

Under his gaze she tilted her head, ran a long, delicate finger down the side of her neck, and stared at him with emerald eyes and a wicked smile.  He watched that finger with a sly grin because it came to him easily; it hid his quick inhalation of breath and the thread of desire that slithered through him.

“What can I do for such a lovely woman?”  he asked, his voice a mask of noble flattery and purposeful pretension.

“Flattery, Bann Teagan, will get you nowhere with me,” she said, her voice direct and flat.  Like him, her words did not match her tone.  “But feel free to keep trying.”

He leaned forward, both of his elbows on the table between them and his fingers linked and resting, wrapped around his mug of ale.  “That’s not what I’ve heard,” he said matching her smile with a half-crooked and playful one of his own.   _Private things_ , he meant his words to remind her.  From the nod she gave and the way her lips pulled down, but her eyes still sparkled he knew his intent was clear enough.  Hers too, in fact.

He lifted his chin and slid a quick glance to Alistair who had already returned to his drink.  Something at least to be thankful for: that his nephew was deep enough in his cups that any real attempts at subtlety were unnecessary.

“Do you have business to propose then?” he asked.  At least at that, she gave a low chuckle and he saw her finger tap twice against her neck.  He nodded.  “Such _affairs_  can be conducted privately.”  His fingers unlaced and he put his palms to the table before pushing back from his seat.  “My room-” he lifted his arms and extended one towards her as he stood- “or yours?”


	2. B is for Bethany

The woman was familiar.  Teagan was sure he had seen her at The Hanged Man once or twice, but never before in warden blue.  If anything at all, he was certain he would’ve remembered a Warden at The Hanged Man - he would have taken any opportunity to foist his nephew onto a Warden that could have dragged him back to Ferelden during an ale-induced sleep.    
  
Blue is the first thing that he notices, but it’s not the deep blue of her uniform.   It was the sparkling bue of her eyes, like the whole of the Amaranthine Ocean was reflected back at him. He introduced himself while Isolde was off conversing with the nobles, Orleasians he had no real interest in spending time with, let alone making nice with.    
  
“Bann Teagan Guerrin,” she repeated as though turning his name over on her tongue.  Then she smiled, chuckled something that was more innocent sounding than the way she’d said his name.  “I remember you.  Bann of Rainesfere?  Nephew Alistair hides under a collection of ale mugs at The Hanged Man?”  She nodded, a small motion that made her loose curls bob over her shoulders.    
  
“The very same, my lady,” he said with a small bow.  “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.  I feel like we’ve met, but I cannot place having met a Warden during my time in the Marches.”  
  
“Then that’s where I’ll have to keep you, my dear Bann.”  Her smile grew, but she took a few steps away and he could see him lose her gaze somewhere over his shoulder.  He wanted to turn, but couldn’t tear himself away long enough, not if he only had moments left with her.    
  
“Another time then, Warden?”  He watched her until her attention came back to him and she nodded.    
  
“There’s just a small matter I must attend,” she said.  This time he did turn, curiosity finally too much for him.  “But, after?  If you’re also a guest at Chateau Haine, I’m sure we can find reason to talk again.”  
  
“Indeed-” he found his gaze settling on Marian Hawke across the courtyard, the Kirkwall Guard Captain at one elbow, and a dwarf at the other- “Warden.”  It was his turn to laugh.  “Another time.” 


	3. C is for Champion

He shook her hand.  It was a strong, firm handshake.  The handshake of a warrior- as though the large sword slung over her back didn't give her away.  He would have known even if the weapon hadn’t been in view.  Or her handshake as strong.  Or her armor as intimidating.  All those things were there, but he would’ve known what she was anyway, for the way their eyes lingered on each other as if she was sizing him up.  
  
“Champion.”  He smiled and even though he knew she was young, very young and he was not, it was a smile that lingered, as did his eyes over ever bit of her that was not covered in armor.  There was little of that.  
  
She withdrew her hand but she didn’t hide it away, or cross her arms, or even look away.  She held his gaze and it was Alistair, shuffling his feet as he stared at the lot of them, who thankfully broke the silence.  It was only a few moments, a few very long moments, but there they were, hung between them for everyone to see.  
  
Alistair coughed and reached out for Norah, the barmaid, looking for another drink.  Teagan took the opportunity to look to his nephew, his smile finally fading at the realization that Alistair had that look on his face once.  The look of the young and dedicated, the look of a fighter, a warrior - someone with hope.  
  
Maybe that’s all it was, he told himself later.  Not that he was old, and she was young and beautiful.  But that she was hopeful.


	4. D is for Desire

Teagan hadn’t imagined that his curiosity, his interest, his thoughts about the Warden Commander, were so abnormal.  She was indeed a beautiful woman, she was unmarried and a warden, and an Arlessa.  It did not seem so unreasonable that a man, even one of his age, would seek such a match.    
  
His letters to her had always been answered with what he judged as a sort of warmth, and while he ruminated on her words, he often imagined what she must have look like as she wrote them.  How her lips might turn up in a smile as she penned them, or that smudges of ink would dot her fingers and wrists if she wrote in a hurry.   
  
When she came to him, he was very far away from Rainesfere and Ferelden altogether, and though he had heard rumors that Wardens had come to Kirkwall, it was unreasonable to think she had come with them.  Afterall, Amaranthine and Ferelden and the Wardens, all had their own issues, even if the Blight was over.  That she knocked on his door at The Hanged Man, alone, should also have been an indication that she was not who he wanted her to be.  But, the Warden was there, and what he saw in her eyes was too close to something he had wanted for a very long time.  He had little inclination to disbelieve it.   
  
Little things, over tiny increments of time, gave the demon away, though he sorely wanted to believe it was her.  The way she said his name was too breathy and full of hunger, her fingertips danced over the toggles on his doublet as she walked him to the bed each of them coming loose at a touch, her eyes were too focused, too dark.     
  
He let himself be convinced, let his lips meet hers and the questions that hid behind them quieted.  It was easier to believe that she had come to him, had found him among a city of refugees, than it was to believe he wanted her so much his mind would conjure his desire as flesh.  But he knew, it wasn’t as if he had never felt the masquerading touch of Desire before, or been fooled by the voice that hid behind a pleasant facade.    
  
Only his own memory and the unfinished letter on the table, kept him from giving in completely.  The quiet clink of jewelery he couldn’t see, the scent of perfumes that were familiar and brought back a vision that was not of any warden, or woman.  He pushed her back, hands on bare shoulders where armor should have been and when he couldn’t meet her gaze, he turned his head away.  There, on the table was a letter home to a woman of honor and courage.  A letter to the woman that had saved his family from a trouble too similar to the one just a breath away.  A woman that he knew would save him from himself because it was right.   
  
Shame then, allowed him to see his desire for what it was.  If he could have her at all, it would happen because he did what was right and proper and not be because he longed for home and seized the easiest and most damning opportunity.  


	5. E is for Eamon

_Teagan,_

_I have heard disturbing reports about your time in Kirkwall, and I feel it is my duty to remind you why you are there. Alistair needs to be returned to Ferelden; the reports of instability in the Free Marches have already made news here among the families._ _Knowing that you are both there has me worried, and though Isolde has been invited to Duke Perrin's hunt, I cannot in good faith send her if you are not dedicated to your duty to our family._

_As has the news of those damned Qunari, the rumors of your dalliances has circulated further afield than I believe either of us would wish it. I warned you of this before you left, and you gave a promise to see your responsibilities cared for._

_Maker bless you brother, but if you must experience the women of the Free Marches, learn to do so with some modicum of subtlety. That your people struggle while you seek attention will lose you more than I can protect. Take that to heart, Teagan and bring yourself and the rest of my family home._

_Your Brother,_

_Eamon Guerrin_

_Arl of Redcliffe_


	6. F is for Free Marches

Teagan walked the streets of Lowtown, if only to get out of the Hanged Man and away from Alistair who was never good company, worse if he was feeling sorry for himself. It was one of the worse days, the tavern full of Ferelden refugees and Alistair, sitting and drinking and not even trying to hide himself away from the endless rattle of complaints and memories of a home far away. 

He felt it too, different from the way his nephew drowned his trouble in drink- the helplessness in a town so far from his own. He had limited funds, limited time, and listening to the heartbreaking and troubling stories of his country, of towns and villages near his own, was frustrating when he could do so little. There was little he _could_ do in a city that didn’t really want him, even as a guest, not when they had so many of their own troubles. And it was not money they needed, even if he had it to give.

His brother’s letter had been a reminder of his intentions, but his so-called responsibilities were a washed up Warden with bad memories and alcohol on his breath. So, he left the tavern while it was still afternoon and he had any place else to go. Except there was no where but the streets, because the people he knew in Kirkwall were limited to only a few and he did not know them well enough to knock on their doors and ask for an afternoon of company. 

There was Hightown, he could have gone there on the hopes of running into someone that recognized him, that might have invited him in for tea, or dinner if he was lucky. But he was not sure he could spare the energy for what passed for polite and meaningless conversation. He tried not to think of how disappointed Eamon would be if he were there. With the city, with him, with Alistair. The letter was was a reprimand, certainly, but he could not imagine what his brother would have said if he were there. 

On the street at least, there were enough distractions that he could not focus on anything other than the sounds and the sun and the smell that came from the swell of people. And if his eyes strayed to the skirt of a passing woman, he could nearly hear the ringing of his brother’s words in his ears.


	7. G is for Gold

Night found him back before the doors of the Hanged Man, where he'd already spent so many nights.  It was comfortable there, he had family and regulars he'd made casual acquaintances with.  It was better than wondering the streets in such trouble times and the company was better than half the nobles homes in town. The common room was a cacophony of laughter and coins, fists on tables and feet on the wooden floors.  From somewhere down the hall came howls of laughter and other pleasures, then echoed down the stairs.   
  
It wasn't home, but it would do.  It was a hub of activity, full of Fereldens and Marchers, of guards and templars and commoners and if there was anything to be known about anyone, the Hanged Man was the place to learn it.   
  
A soft noise, less than the clatter of coins on the bar, but still brought them to mind, sounded beside him.  The bar was his home when Alistair was in his darker moods, and when the other patrons were at their worst, he suspected he helped keep it propped up firmly against its posts.  He turned towards the sound and the warmth of a shoulder against his.   
  
The woman blinked at him.  Once. Twice.  Long dark lashes batted closed her dark brown eyes and he grinned.  Found the charm he kept in store for moments like this, and he held her gaze.  She matched his smile with one of her own, lips pursed with a curious twist at the corner - a look that said trouble before she even said a word.    
  
He leaned an arm on the bar and turned to face her more fully, hip supporting his weight against the bar. Only for half a breath did he allow himself a cursory look down, taking in curves covered in a white tunic half-laced, and smooth brown skin.  If he thought about it she looked familiar, not that he would ever be able to remember the time or place.  There had been too many faces in the war and while he’d like to think he’d remember one like hers, he didn’t.  Wouldn’t stop him from trying to investigate the mystery of her now.  A woman like her?  Not even Eamon’s sternly worded reprimand would deter him.   
  
“Another for the lady, please?” he asked Corff.  He received a dubiously raised brow and a tankard slid towards him in return.  Teagan slid a coin on the bar in exchange which scooped up quickly as the man moved towards another patron.   
  
The woman walked her fingers along his hand and tilted her head.  “Watch how you throw that word around.  You’ll ruin my reputation.”   
  
He heard Corff’s chortle from somewhere just behind him but Teagan paid it no mind, finding wandering fingertips far more intriguing.  Gold caught his eye in the flash of bright earrings from behind dark curls, and a gaudy necklace beneath.     
  
“Lady?”  He met her gaze again, pleased at least to hear the amusement in her voice.  “I say it when I mean it.  It’s not just for wealthy nobles you know.”   
  
She shook her head, adornments chiming in tandem with her laugh.  "Oh, aren't you charming?"   
"You wouldn't be the first to say so."  He grabbed his tankard of ale, and knocked back what was left inside.  It had only been his first and when he put it down, he grabbed the one Corff had freshly poured and handed it to her.   
  
"And modest too," she crooned and followed her words with no attempt at subtlety as her hand wrapped over his on the mug.   
  
Teagan shrugged and once more Eamon's letter surfaced in his mind before he pushed the thought away.  For all Eamon harped about responsibility, his brother had sown his own wild oats in the Marches at a younger age.  Some of them, he imagined had also been in Kirkwall.    
  
"I'll admit I know well how to utilize the the talents available to me," he said with a grin as he let his hand fall away from hers.    
  
Her eyes narrowed for only a moment before she took a swig of ale and then rested the mug against his chest.  There was barely a step between them with that movement and she replaced her incredulous smile with a far more wicked one.    
  
"Two can play at that game."


	8. H is for Honor

“You’re smiling, my dear Bann,” Isabela crooned. She was stretched out on the bed next to him, covers barely covering her stomach. One of her hands lay between them, the other on her belly, fingers tapping in some unknown rhythm. 

“I am.” He tilted his head, not in an attempt to hide his obvious appreciation, but to show his distinct lack of interest in looking anywhere else. His smile was broad indeed, and he reached out to cover her hand with his, stilling her fingers. 

She raised an eyebrow and the covers rustled as she curled her toes and slowly pulled them down and away, revealing them both. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that spending time with Isabela meant there was little room for modesty, or shame. If he looked, so did she and he found quickly that he did not mind as much as he thought he might. 

Isabela was exactly the sort of woman his father and Eamon both had warned him against. Promiscuous and independent, determined and continually hungry for jewels and wealth. What they wouldn’t see, what so few people saw, was that she had rules to play by, same as the rest of them. There was a code she kept and so few knew it, that to everyone else it would remain a mystery. 

And that was exactly the way she liked it.

Her hand moved and she twined her fingers with his, sliding her other hand up to his shoulder and pulling him close. “And now, you’ve got that look again.”

“What look?” Teagan asked. He leaned in for a kiss, which she obliged, hand curling up his neck and into his hair. Her kiss had the addition of teeth against his bottom lip, nipping and then pulling away with a wicked smile.

“The one that says you’ve got me all figured out. I’ve seen it before.” She sighed, and rested her head on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

He didn’t think he had her figured out at all. There were things he understood: that she had friends that meant more to her than she would ever admit, that she played by her own set of rules, that she gave away more than she kept. But her past was a mystery, as was how she knew the things she did or how she fought with such grace and whether or not he meant anything to her at all beyond their nights together.

“Do I?” he asked. 

She turned her head, cheek pressed to the pillow and she graced him a lazy, disarming smile. The smile that said at least in that particular moment, she was just... Isabela. And that was all he needed to know.

He shook his head. “If I do, let me forget it now.”

Isabela raised her eyebrow and then pulled him close. He put his head against her shoulder and she wrapped her arm around him, hand warm against his back. 

“Wise choice,” she said. She kissed him again, only the playfulness was gone and what was left was something nearly sweet, something he only knew when she was at her most worn- tired and unguarded. When she pulled away the next time it was only the space of a breath and she whispered, “Better that way, for us both.”

He didn’t think so, but he wrapped his hands around her and pulled her close until there was no space left between them. Maybe he knew one more thing about her, or at least he knew enough to guess this might be her version of goodbye.


	9. I is for Isolde

It hadn't quite been a goodbye after all. It was a surprise the next night when she was back- at the Hanged Man, in his room, in his arms. She didn't much talk when they were done, but she stayed and that felt like enough for the night.

There were other nights just like that one, where they spoke less and less. It wasn't anger- he'd seen her angry- it was a sort of bone weariness that he saw when she thought no one was watching. It was the way she didn't just drink, but buried herself in each drop. She avoided her friends, dragging him away from the common room with lust in her smile, but exhaustion in her steps. 

No amount of prodding would get her to open up to him and so they shared a bed more than they slept together. She let him pull her close, even as the rest of her retreated. He realized he didn’t know her quite as well as he had thought, and the secrets she kept were a gulf between them.

By the time Isolde arrived in Kirkwall, he'd nearly forgotten about her visit altogether and had to scramble to make arrangements for her stay. A room at The Hanged Man wouldn't do, so he found a family in town that would take the both of them for the few days before they would need to leave for Duke Perrin's. He took her The Hanged Man only so she could see Alistair, not because they were fond of each other, but so she could tell Eamon she'd seen him with her own eyes and he was as bad as Teagan had said.

Only his luck would have it that Isabela was also there and with a mood seemingly more cheery than she had been in weeks, by the way she tossed back her drink and flashed him a smile. As they walked across the tavern, Teagan scanned the common room. Alistair was nowhere to be seen, and when he walked in with Isolde. Isabela met them halfway, locking her arm around one of Teagan’s at the same time he realized that introductions would prove difficult.

True to form, Isolde looked scandalized by Isabela’s familiarity him. Her mouth gaped as she glanced down at Isabela’s customary tunic. When she got her wits about her a moment later Isolde asked, "Teagan... who is this woman?"

Isabela quirked a brow and looked between them. "Yes, Teagan. Who is this woman?" He didn’t believe for a moment that Isabela was jealous. Her tone was more amused than annoyed, but there was no ignoring her own judgement of Isolde in it. And for a second he couldn’t be certain whether she was waiting for her introduction to Isolde, or Isolde’s introduction to her. But then, she pulled her arm away and spun behind him. He heard her boots as she slowly crossed the tavern floorboards around he and Isolde.

It was clear as day when she faced him again, still smiling but with more a warning that spoke of the growing distance between them.

“Isabela, meet Arlessa Isolde Guerrin. My sister by her marriage to my brother, Eamon.” He swept a hand between them by way of completion, not bothering to explain anything more of Isabela than her name. Her profession was either clear or it wasn’t (more likely wasn’t, to Isolde), and he didn’t want to answer the questions that further explanation would bring. 

Isabela nodded and half-dropped into a mocking curtsey. “Pleasure,” Isabela purred. “I’m sure.” As she straightened her smile turned wicked and she grabbed for Isolde’s hand. “Can I show you around? Get you a drink? Show you to your nephew’s room?” Isolde was pulled forward as the pirate pushed through the crowd. Teagan could do little other than follow wide-eyed and waited for Isolde’s temper to emerge. 

Isolde had the good sense and lack of humor to look completely scandalized. She pulled her hand away as the first opportunity, though perhaps more swiftly than she intended. She stumbled forward and then let out an annoyed huff at Teagan as she bumped her leg the corner table Isabela had been aiming for. 

“Teagan-” Isolde began, his name drawn out into a sigh. She shook her head and dropped onto the bench.

Isabela sat down next to her, close at her elbow and winked conspiratorially. A little softer than before she continued, “Or perhaps I can talk you into spilling some of Teagan’s secrets? I’m sure there’s something positively delicious that he’s hiding from me. I do love a good scandal!”


	10. J is for Jewelry

There were two days until he and Isolde would leave for Duke Perrin’s party. For Isolde, this meant a rush of shopping and going through her very carefully chosen wardrobe to make sure that everything was in order. Far from home and at the mercy of another nobles home, much of the tasks she took up herself. Teagan supposed it could be worse, at least with Isolde occupied, there was much less a chance Isabela would scandalize her again. 

As for Isabela, she too would be attending the Duke’s hunt, invited by the city’s Champion. Sometimes, it felt like the Maker was laughing at him. What had felt like Isabela’s goodbye became a flurry of sweat-soaked sheets, tangled limbs and a pile of clothes on the floor of her room at The Hanged Man as if they were brand-new lovers again. There had been a shift in her and though he wasn’t sure what it was, he was very sure that it had nothing to do with him. He’d done nothing different, aside from welcome his sister-in-law to town. Isabela was sly, he knew that, and he wondered if she didn’t have something up her sleeve that would take them all by surprise. 

On a whim the day before their trip, Teagan browsed the market on his way to collect Isolde. He took his time, ran his fingers along the edge of tables, let his eyes be caught by the shine of armor and jewelry. A merchant moved a display and the clink of metals drew his attention. A pair of large gold earrings turned in the sun and he made his way towards them, reminded of Isabela. 

He had never bought her a gift before. At least nothing that wasn’t food or drink or a room for their late night rendezvous. But, he looked a the earrings and actually considered buying them for her. He reached out to touch them, running his thumb over the engraved lines in the metal. They looked so much like her, or like the earrings she wore, it took him a moment to take his hand back and consider _not_ buying them. Something about them just screamed Isabela and he couldn’t help himself. 

Before he even realized he was doing it, the earrings were off their post and in a small wrapped package courtesy of the vendor. He smiled and took his gift and instantly regretted the purchase as soon as he turned around. He and Isabela were not permanent, they were not emotional, they were nothing more than having a good time. 

But, the purchase had been inexpensive all things considered and it was already done. He had Isolde to attend to and travel arrangements to complete. By the time he returned back to The Hanged Man that evening, he relinquished his gift to her control. 

Of course, it turned out that they’d been so perfectly Isabela that they actually _were_ Isabela’s, but she grinned and drove him to distraction before he could find out how she’d lost them in the first place.


End file.
